Number One
by yvj
Summary: AU P.I Will Du has problems. His life wasn't going as planned. But when a certain monkey man turns up dead, Du finds himself caught up in the crossfire between villains, heroes,and his own past. Its his big break but will it break him?
1. Catch a falling star

A/N Ok here's the deal. So I was thinking I've got quite a number of stories to tell with this fanfiction thing. I also have stories to finish. Sometimes I try to hold back a story so I can expand on the current ones a little more. It's a precious balance. But I'm getting to the point I can't hold things down anymore. I've got quite a few stories on my plate. I'm aware of that but still I'm planning three (this being one so there's two more) new stories this summer. To those of you who want to see me work on my current stuff I apologize I'll get to them again, the few of you who aren't just going along for Middlewood and A Lot Like Love XD lucky days are here again.

Now for something different. I wanted to do a story like this for a long time. You don't really see a lot of this around the fanfiction world to my knowledge anyway. Bear with me on this one folks, I've got big and very interesting plans for this.

* * *

It was a month since I had dropped my last case. I was at home, on the twelfth floor of the biggest apartment building in Go City's north side. Leaning out an open window I enjoyed the cool crisp breeze blowing in from the east. The full, waning moon appeared tipsy as it dragged itself over the horizon. I looked down at the streets; the fall air pulsed with the sounds of the city. The city's buzz came to the ear like a distant murmur, as if the metropolis itself was calling from afar. Sometimes in my more quixotic moments I'd answer her back. But when I took the time to listen, it always seemed like she was talking about me.

"Can I ask you a question Will?"

I turned away from the scene and looked over at the woman sitting up on my bed. Her name was Janice. Her brown hair fell down to her shoulders, just a tad longer than I really liked. Her lips full and red, her cheeks were rosy. She was sitting up and the sheet had fallen away from her chest, and it unfortunately reaffirmed she wasn't up to snuff on curves. It was a shallow, likely misogynistic assessment I agree. But desire is not usually one to be hindered by cultivation. The reality of the situation was, with the risk of again sounding callous and vulgar, I was getting what I wanted but not what I "wanted." All things considered she was a good looking dame as they say.

"I've got nothing against you speaking freely."

"Are you a copper?"

I quickly recalculated my take on her. "I used to be with the D.O.I....How did you know?"

She smiled brightly again. "It's the eyes y'know. I've got heat in my family and they've got the same kind of eyes. I'm fond of those eyes."

It was a bit of a sting to know this "meeting of the minds" wasn't based solely on my handsome face and delightful charm. Instead I had been tagged by my former profession.

"I suppose the eyes do add to my appeal."

"Perhaps" She grinned. "The Go City Police have sexy uniforms."

"Well unfortunately I'm not on the force anymore, and I threw away my old uniform."

She bared her teeth playfully at me and asked, "Why aren't you on the force anymore?"

"I quit…."

"Why?"

"I couldn't stand the hours."

"Seriously?"

"No."

Normally I would brush off any conversation that even hinted at broaching this subject. But it felt appropriate now to keep a congenial manner. There wouldn't be many more moments like this between her and me after tonight. So answering her questions seemed ethically shortsighted but somehow compromising.

"Mistakes were made," I said simply.

"Goof!" She suddenly exclaimed with the judgment of a Delphic oracle.

I was on the cover of the Go City Times twice. The first cover contained an obligatory picture of my father and me, shaking hands in front of the Go City police station. A situation I had wanted no part of but it looked good for the department. Fire and Ice the headlines screamed, it was a cursory allusion to our contrasting personalities. An optimistic article was written up about me, something along the lines of me breathing life into the department. The second cover featured a candid shot of me stepping out of my apartment building. The headline there read "Goof!" and that's all that needed to be said. Two covers, completely different stories. Truly a rise and fall worthy of Euripides.

"You goofed up a case that Kim Possible had to solve."

"I solved the case….as it appeared to me. But things didn't fall in line the way I wanted."

My answer was honest enough. The bottom line was that I had allowed my destiny to be wrested from my grasp. I messed up and the choice given to me by the top brass was I could be bumped down from lead investigator to organizing evidence. And if I played their game, kept my eyes to the ground, got a nice shine of brown on my nose, maybe, maybe in ten years they'd let me see the streets again. Or I could quit.

"Do you hate Kim Possible?"

I thought about it. One of the few things I noticed after the "fallout," was the difficulty in finding people who understood you. What essentially drives me….to clarify…not my motivations or my wants and needs, but the _drive_ itself. Kim Possible can understand that _drive_ that pushes us forward. In that essence she is the same as I. She was the best and worst competitor a person can choose to use as a benchmark. They say though, fierce competition is the whetstone of talent.

"I don't hate, it takes up too much energy. Especially hate geared towards Kim Possible or Ron Stoppable. I've worked with them; solved crimes with them when our paths crossed. Maybe at one time I was strongly "not fond" of them. But the past is a communist nation lady; they do things so much differently there"

"That's pretty big of you,"

"Respect is given where respect is due….The people out there they are always looking for…They need a hero, true heroes….and they're…for now, for what it's worth she's…"

Spitting out the rest of the sentence was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I had to swallow down a knot in my throat. But I couldn't lie to myself; I had too much self pride for that.

"….for the moment, she's number one."

Janice curled her legs under her. "It must be tough disliking Team Possible around here. They've saved Go City so many times they're like royalty almost."

I kicked off my shoes and took a seat on the bed next to my current "gal pal." "You know what you say after getting dragged down to hell?"

"What?

"Does anyone have a sweater?"

She liked that one, it impressed her, I could tell by the smile on her face. Sweet smile, sweet face, sweet girl.

I lay onto my back and she leaned over me. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Are you writing a book?"

"Well I don't figure we'll be seeing much more of each other after tonight."

"What makes you say that?"

She grinned briefly, without committing herself. "Intuition."

She was a perspective girl. She'd make a fine detective; in my eyes she was brighter than half the knuckle dragging amateurs I left behind on the force.

"Listen" I said. "I'm sorry if you….

"I didn't expect anything more than a good time." The glow of the moonlight was kind to her, did some real nice things with her eyes.

"Ask, you may receive."

I followed her eyes as they toured the room "I can understand the books and the bookcases, you look like a reader. But what is with the framed pictures of flowers?"

I knew where they were but I still glanced at the tiny framed pictures on the four corners of the room anyway.

"I was told once that in Japan the flower known as the Sakura is the symbol "justice determination and majesty."

"You actually believe in that phrase, 'justice determination and majesty'?"

"It's one of the two things I believe in one hundred percent."

"What's the other one?"

"Myself."

She laughed and then she pulled away from my field of vision leaving me to stare up at the odd patterns on the ceiling. When her face reappeared above me she was wearing an eye patch on her right eye. Needless to say my interest was significantly piqued.

"I thought you didn't….are you sure about?" I inquired enthusiastically.

She leaned over and laid a kiss on forehead. Yeah she was a sweet girl, maybe in another lifetime. One that made much more sense than the one we were currently in.

"Consider it a parting gift" she told me.

"You're going to make somebody a wonderful wife someday."

Somehow it just felt like the right thing to say. She laughed, with me or at me I wasn't sure, a moment later I turned out the light, we reached for each other and let the darkness take over.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was there when I woke up, the feeling that something big was right on the horizon.

This peculiar feeling nagged at me, it told me to get out of bed early. So I woke up and did two hundred push ups just to prove to myself I still could. After that I stumbled into the bathroom, ran a brush through my mouth and a comb dipped in Vitalis through my hair. I focused on the bathroom mirror and discovered someone I didn't care to see at the moment. He bothered me; he was starting to disappoint. He was wasting his talent, not living up to his potential. We quietly nodded to each as we passed, this morning I didn't approve of him and it was quiet likely he didn't approve of me.

Already in a foul sort of mood I hurried out my apartment and headed to work. My office could be appropriately found in Go City's office district. There you'd find that every man dressed in a jacket and tie. Those that were older than thirty five or those who had some fashion sense like me wore a fedora. This was standard wear for the downtown worker, a sharp look if one wanted to be the polite duplicate of the ordinary man beside you. It was a dull look but there were worse things a man could have on.

I shared my office building with a women's salon. The salon was located on the bottom floor and I was on the top. Like all things it had its pros and cons. A pro being the attractive women coming in and out for most of the day, a con was the talkative elderly owner. It was a chore just managing to limit my conversation with her to less than half an hour. She was waiting for me in front of the building when I arrived. In record time, about fifteen minutes, we came to an understanding that even though a handsome and sweet boy like me should find myself a pretty young thing to marry I should still enjoy my bachelorhood as much as I can. That stimulating portion of my morning concluded I bustled past her up a flight of stairs and into my office. Once inside, my eyes did a fast pirouette around the office. There was nothing much to see; a desk, files, a few chairs, no beautiful blond busty secretary. It was just a simple run down office.

If I hadn't hit rock bottom yet, there was no bottom.

I picked up the telephone, just to make sure it was still working then I set it back down. The essentials still functional I tuned my radio into the morning news.

The news du jour was about a two alarm fire in a Laundromat downtown. An exciting story for well mannered civilians of course, but it wasn't the real story. In fact anyone who had any kind of social life or better yet at least a toe in the Go City underworld knew a variation of the real story. What wasn't reported was that the entrepreneur who owned the Laundromat was he himself owned by Big Daddy Brotherson. Word on the street was that a hundred grand of Big Daddy's money was last seen in the Laundromat before it went missing. This all happened a few months ago. The money was apparently still missing; Big daddy was apparently still very furious. The other piece of news that caught my attention was the ongoing investigation of the death of former villain Lord Monkey Fist. The Go City police department announced that they were making this case a priority. Which meant the case belonged to my former brothers in arms at the D.O.I. Listening to the report on the radio made a part of me long to be back at the department.

I went over to my desk and sat down. My last case it was a brief stint of undignified photography work for a Mrs. Bonnie Senior. It was a standard case, record and photograph all infidelities or indiscretions of one Senor Senior Jr. Help grease the wheels of the inevitable divorce. Apparently Junior couldn't do anything for her that a monthly alimony check couldn't do, without leaving the toilet seat up at night. Things got complicated when a new super villain, trying to make a name for himself, took Junior hostage. Mrs. Rockwaller went to the G.P.D; the G.P.D went to Team Possible because she demanded it. Why she didn't go straight to Kim Possible was still beyond my understanding. Needless to say my services were rendered null and void. I was significantly devastated by the news. It was hard to walk away from a case that had so challenged my intellectual and physical prowess.

I glanced up at the ceiling, and I just stared. This was no time to feel sorry for myself. I had to get back to work, get better at the craft. Find a way to make an impact and right some wrongs in the process.

"Hello?"

I had been so immersed in my own thoughts I had failed to notice someone had walked into my office. I glanced up towards the source of the voice. This "someone" was sporting what any would call the "teeny bopper" look. A cardigan sweater, polo shirt and wool flannel pants. A fashion combo that was popular among young celebrities these days. But that wasn't the strange part about him. The strange part was that he wasn't human. He stood five feet tall, with the head, and I assumed from the shape, the torso of a panda. His feet resembled that of a kangaroo with a brownish colored fur in contrast to his darker upper body. He had kangaroo ears, and his "hands" well what came to mind when I saw them was squid.

The creature bopped itself on the head. "Sorry about that, I keep forgetting to knock." It bopped its forehead once more before looking over at me. "You Will Du?" It asked with a little voice akin to a child's. It reached under its shirt revealing a marsupial pouch on its midsection. From this he pulled out a pad of paper.

"The son of renowned former police detective Cain Du? The man one who matched wits and fists with a variety a variety of colorful villains that plagued Go City? The founder of the D.O.I, the man who was said to at one time single handedly cut major crimes organized or not in the city by thirty percent?"

I leaned back in my chair. "Sounds vaguely familiar."

It cleared its throat and continued, luckily with a better subject.

"Will Du, you received a prestigious private school education and graduated at the top of your class. After school you followed your father's footsteps in becoming an officer and an amateur boxer. Held a record of twenty two and zero in the ring, and even though you made no attempt to make friends or take a partner you had a _near_ perfect case record despite some of your social shortcomings…."

It was right about most of it. What it got wrong was twenty two and zero was my father's record, I had twenty three wins. Still he was right about my illustrious former career with G.P.D. Once personally cleared twenty-five consecutive major cases in a little under a year, all alone. The next most successful detective did half that, working most of the time with a partner in tow.

I let the crack about the social shortcomings slide.

"Are you that Will Du?"

I stared the creature down. I wasn't drunk, and pinched myself to make sure I wasn't asleep. There was only one possible answer remaining. Only one person could be responsible for this monstrosity standing before me.

"You're him right?"

One could argue I wasn't as famous as I should have been

"Well the sign of the door says Will Du… but you don't look much like a private detective," It stated.

"Why not?"

"Well, you're kind of pretty looking."

"Is that right?" I replied with a chuckle.

"Not that I care what men look like… or what anyone looks like really."

"Of course, why would you?"

"But you've got a smooth voice, and your hair is shiny---"

"Yeah, you've probably got the wrong man."

His face was human enough to look sheepish. His head lowered, he turned his rounded shoulders away.

"Hold it……friend, yes I am Will Du, I was just testing you."

My mind came to the conclusion; the person responsible for this thing had to be the mad geneticist Amy Hall.

It smiled or it did what could only be a panda's version of a smile. Then its head swiveled from left to right before it reached for the door.

"Is there anyone else in here?"

"No one here but us genetically altered abominations."

My crack didn't seem to faze it. It ignored me and pulled at my door handle. "Come on in, there's no one else here."

The door opened. She stood there overabundant and bulking in the narrow doorway so that her shoulders almost touched either side of the frame. She managed to fit herself in a Chanel suit, a simple design featuring a pink collarless jacket teamed with a skirt that went slightly below the knees. For a dramatic effect she had a very dark funeral veil over her head.

"Thank you pandaroo." She turned away from creature and faced me.

"My name is Amy Hall." The strain in her voice was anything but subtle.

"Okay." I stated. "My name is Will Du. I am a private investigator. But you already know that. Maybe you read it somewhere, or you heard about me, or maybe your friend "natural selection" over there did some research. Somehow you found out about me and it gave you some form of hope. Hope will cost you twenty five dollars a day plus expenses. I'm going to tell you up front that kind of monetary input will most likely not be buying you any good news. Nine out of ten times people walk out of this very office knowing things about themselves or those close to them they didn't want to know. There's the door, consider that I can't turn back time when it's all said and done."

I'd been saying that very speech for a few years. During the beginning months of my second year as a P.I, I had two consecutive months of cases involving things ranging from finding missing relatives, to recovering "clandestine" photos for regretful brides or grooms to be. This speech sprang from those two months. It was a good speech, I was proud of it for what it was.

"I need your help and I'm willing to pay for it," she managed when the speech ended. "You're my last chance."

"For the last few years, I've been everybody's last chance. Have a seat."

She sat down before my desk. I glanced over at Mr. Roo. "Is your….pet, my client also?"

"He's not my pet, he's my little darling."

I reached into my desk and pulled out a handkerchief. I presented it to Ms. Hall and she immediately brought it to her nose. She sniffed, "our little darling."

She sat down and I watched her dab away tears. "You can wait outside Roodypoo."

It bowed, "take care of her please."

"Roodypoo" then stepped outside and I brought my attention back to DNAmy. She stared at me, her beady eyes taking me in. Inhaling deeply she said.

"You look even less like a private investigator up close. You're closer to pretty than hard boiled and rugged."

Obviously this was some shallow attempt at dispersing the heavy darkness that she had dragged in my office.

I followed suit.

"What a coincidence my mother said the same thing to me last week."

"Really?" she responded with a wisp of a smile in her voice.

"No." Pause. "Where did you get all that information about me?"

"A discreet friend."

"Anybody I know."

"I can't say for sure, but I would doubt it."

"So you're saying you got lucky."

"I'd hope so. I heard that you were good, and that sometimes you went above and beyond for you clients even those who couldn't pay you fully."

"I just do my job though I do it better than anyone else. Now my question is why the cloak and dagger act Miss Hall?"

"I was told to keep my hiring of a private investigator as much of a secret as possible."

"You were told this by the same person who told you about me?"

"Perhaps," she conceded.

While a rational man would most likely have found this game irksome I found it quite a bit of fun.

"So tell me, what's wrong?"

Her lips trembled. Her hands clenched in her lap. "I'm sure you've heard about my sweet Monty."

"Brief glances at the paper and what I hear on the radio is all I know about it."

"That's all anyone knows." She sat on the very edge of the chair as if she were about to rise. "I was the closest to him in the world, and I don't know any more than you do…… I'm willing to pay you to find some answers for me."

"This reminds me Ms. Hall, we do have a police department investigating as we speak. That fancy D.O. I, the nationally known Division of Investigation; though admittedly they are not as…..well equipped in contrast to years prior, but they must already have some of the answers to your questions."

"The department refuses to give me clear answers….Even when they were first arrived they were so aloof about it. Like they weren't going to take it seriously, like it didn't matter because Monty was a…."

"Villain?" I said softening my tone a bit.

"Former villain," she corrected. "At first they didn't seem to care, even though it happened in my home and our sanctuary. Then about a day or so later I noticed the investigation became serious, more detectives were assigned to the case; they declared my entire home a crime scene and told me to stay away for the good of the case. I didn't think I'd be able to sleep there every again, so I didn't protest that. I thought a serious investigation was what I wanted but then…."

"Then…?"

"The blanket of silence is what happened. Every time I asked about the case they give me the run around."

"Well understandably the public can't be privy to all facets of the investigation. Some things have to be on a need to know basis."

"They've clammed up tighter then…..clams….when it comes to my questions. But they are releasing information, negative information about my poor Monty. They can't tell me about his killer but somehow they find it appropriate to turn his name into mud all over the city!"

Somehow I managed to keep myself from snorting out loud.

"Ms. Hall with all due respect Monkey Fist's name was….."

She stood up. "He changed! He, he promised…"With a heavy sigh she sat back down. "My little monkey pudding and pie accepted the villain reformation act just like I did. He was serious about it; you can ask Senor Senior Sr. He'll tell you about how serious Monty was about turning a new leaf!"

I sighed. "What do you want me to do Ms. Hall?"

The lady dabbed at her eyes. "I don't know who killed my Monty-poo or why. Or why the G.P.D is trying to stain his name. They're talking about him stealing again. But what did he steal? We lived together; you'd imagine I would have noticed any new ancient scriptures or monkey related artifacts in his possession. Though he was a gentleman thief he wasn't shy about his breaking and entering. I've looked into all major robberies in the last few months and there is nothing that even comes close to having a connection with Monty. The story that the G.P.D is trying to sell is a lie and the only thing that will change it is the facts! I need the facts!"

Then she tortured her lower lip with glistening teeth and said nothing. I wordlessly got up from my desk and walked towards the mini bar I had installed in a far corner room. It was only a few months into the job when I realized that bad news was easier to accept for the client when chased by a drink. Now I wasn't a social drinker by any stretch of the imagination but I did believe holding a glass of liquor in hand sometimes added a sense of mystique to my person.

"Drink?"

She sniffed. "I'm not much of a drinker but if you insist I'll have a whiskey sour."

A double take or two later I found myself preparing a drink for Ms. Hall and myself. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe Monkey---"

"Monty."

"That maybe Monty had ah, slipped back into ---"

"He was dedicated to his new life," she interrupted. He was even getting help adjusting to life outside of villainy."

I handed her the drink and she gulped it down like a pro. I took a seat back at my desk and began nursing my glass.

"Help? From whom?"

"Ron Stoppable."

I glanced up from the bottom of my glass. It was well known that Stoppable and Fiske had reached an awkward truce. I remembered a shot of them shaking hands under an olive tree on the cover of the Times. It reeked highly of PR.

"Don't you see how dedicated he was to his new life? The one person who he hated most of all he accepted as a life counselor. It's so sweet." She blew into the now soggy handkerchief.

"This is the first time I'm hearing of this."

Her eyes were uneasy. "Of course Monty has his pride like all men. I found out when I happened to walk into my study while he was speaking to Ron Stoppable on the phone."

I gave the matter some thought before speaking again.

"Ms. Hall, maybe you should wait and see how the investigation develops…."

"I can't trust the G.D.P anymore. You're my last hope; I'll give you eleven thousand dollars."

"It's not about the money…..the proper procedure here would be to…."

"You have to help! I'm not sure where else I can turn!"

"I…."

Only her dark eyes spoke now, pleading.

I gulped down the remainder of my drink. I glanced past the ice and down at my reflection at the bottom.

"Alright, I'll check up on things for you. Don't get your hopes up though, you shouldn't expect anything amazing. I'll only take ten percent as payment for now."

Amy Hall, AKA DNAmy, burst into tears before my very eyes. She sobbed loudly, causing Mr. Pandaroo to burst back in the room with childlike fear in his eyes."

"Is something wrong?!!"

Amy Hall opened her arms and Pandypoo was drawn into them like she was a magnet. They embraced tightly and cried into each other's shoulders.

I sat there watching the circus scene wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I allowed the Ms Hall and her pet to grieve for another ten minutes before I pointed them both to the person-centered therapists who worked across the street from my office. One of these days I would have to get around to levying a fee on those ingrate therapists. Heaven knows I was keeping them in business. With my clients out of the way, I left my office and headed out towards the public library. Unlike others in my profession I couldn't afford any research equipment, or a staff to do the research for me. Most of my funds, when I received any, went towards my apartment and my living necessities. But it wasn't all grim news. Not only was it a source of information but there was an added benefit to the library being the place to start a preliminary investigation. The comely brown haired librarian working there was a sight for sore eyes after having my vision clogged with that of Amy Hall.

However this wasn't the time for a social call, so I handed her a list of dates.

"What a coincidence," she muttered. "Someone asked for some of these same dates yesterday, I remember hauling these out among many others from the back a few days ago."

I cogitated on this as I followed the librarian to the stack. I took them over to an empty table and sat down. The newspapers told their story with their feature stories, headlines and editorials. I tried to piece together a logical story of my own. Lord Monkey Fist, birth name Montgomery "Monty" Fiske, in his heyday Monty was a Grade 'A' Baddie who specialized in, archeology, martial arts and thievery. More specifically he is obsessively consumed with all things simian, for example the study of Tai Shing Pek Kwar, or Monkey Kung-Fu. Monty used to be a nobleman, but at some point in his life monkeys dominated his mental process and he spent his family fortune on the genetic modifications to achieve a monkey-like physique. Why he chose monkeys and not lemurs or marmosets remains a mystery to this day.

Monty was also wildly regarded as Ronald Stoppable's primary arch nemesis. A prestigious gig until he disappeared for a few years. The reasons for his disappearance still remain a mystery. He returned out of the blue a few years later with DNAmy in tow. Monty tried to dip his toes back in the villain game but time had passed him by. General consensus was during his absence Ron Stoppable's physical skill set had grown by leaps and bounds. Frankly speaking, the buffoon had finally surpassed the lunatic. DNAmy wised him up to the Villain Reformation Act that had been adapted during his absence. Since then he'd been jacketed to her, they had been living together for years. Along with a mutant genetic "son" she created three years ago they seemed to be one big happy sideshow family.

That is of course until he shook hands with the great leveler.

MF became an honest citizen…supposedly. Somehow he got tied in with Senor Senior Sr. Senior was apparently a staunch supporter of the Reformation Act, publically urging other major villains to give up the lifestyle. It appeared Fiske had found a new calling in helping Senior reach out to other villains. Ironically Senor Senior Sr. announcing he would run for office at the end of the current governor's term trumped the news of Monty's murder. Not that there was much public clamor over it. Monkey Fiske had been a big name in villainy but he was never a "sexy" name in that world; unlike the monikers of Shego, Drakken or Dementor.

There was even less news about the investigation as days went by. The last bit of big news was the authorities questioning the last two people who had seen him alive. Both of their alibis' seemed legit at the moment. Amy Hall and her "darling" had spent most of the day at some sort of doll convention; dozens of witnesses placed her at the event. She returned home the next day to find her house blocked off by law enforcement. She was then briefed on the situation from afar; she was told there was a monkey man sized hole through a wall in her living room, and a quarter sized hole in her beau courtesy of a laser blast. The second person to enjoy Monty's last few days of breathing was his butler and occasional confidante Mr. Jeremiah Bates. Bates had been given the week off a few days prior. However he stopped by the Hall home the morning of Fiske's death to check up on things. According to the papers Bates said he found Fiske in a strangely chipper mood. "A demeanor most unbecoming of a nobleman," he declared. Finding everything relatively on the level Bates spent the rest of the day and night in a pub downtown. He was the one who returned to find Lord Fiske's body.

The papers certainly did tell me something. Monkey Fist had apparently been murdered by person unknown. Unfortunately that wasn't quite enough to solve the case.

There were a few little details that I did find interesting. Like evidence that someone had rummaged through the house. However there was no word if anything had been stolen. The stories that had trickled out since the murder didn't tell much but they implied a lot. The D.O.I let a few hints drop about a thieving ring and then the articles stopped altogether. It seemed like there was nothing more about Fiske interesting enough to read. His life was over and so was his story. Finally I noticed a direct quote from Team Possible was nary to be found. Though there was something from an unnamed middle man. "Team Possible is shocked and distraught over this news. Monty Fiske may have been a troubled individual but they still wished that he had reached out to them, Team Possible would have gladly given him a helping hand."

Ms. Hall wasn't being paranoid; no one out right stated anything but there was a whole lot of implying going on that Fiske was up to no good. Satisfied I pushed myself from the newspapers and indulged in some mental mastication as I returned to the librarian.

"Miss, do you happen to know who asked for these papers?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity sake…..Mrs…Miss?"

"Miss Hammer." She replied.

"Curiosity sake Miss Hammer."

She eyed me delicately. "In our library we do have a confidentiality policy."

"Of course." I made as if I was leaving but I turned back towards her. "One more thing Miss Hammer may I ask you another pertinent library related question?"

"Sure."

I leaned over the counter. "Do you like short love affairs?"

"That's not a library related question" she tsked.

It was admittedly a tsk of disapproval, however it in my humble opinion, it didn't match the look of curiosity on her face.

"It's not really pertinent either. But it is the question on my mind."

"Well then the answer to your question is that I hate them."

I grinned. "That's good because I've got all weekend."

She smiled and it was a curious smile. "That's cute, very cute. How old are you?"

"I'm twenty five."

"I'm thirty five."

"And?"

"I'm old," she replied.

"You're in your prime."

"Flatterer."

"I'm anything but ma'am. However I do believe there is some truth in the words of Madame de Stael 'The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man'."

"Hmm, a cultured flatterer," she proclaimed. "You seldom get those around here." With that she sauntered off and returned a moment or two later.

She shook her head. "The head librarian filed those articles out. She was much too elderly to haul all those papers out on her own so I brought them out for her but I didn't get to see who they were for.

"I see, does she recall who it was?"

She was off and back in five minutes shaking her head."She tried, but we get a lot of people coming and going in here. You can't really blame her if she stopped taking in faces over twelve years"

"I understand. You know Miss Hammer, if this weather wasn't so bad we could take a drive around town. I know this city like the back of my hand; there are plenty of nice scenic places we could go."

She smiled warmly and scribbled something on a piece of paper. "The weather is rotten today, but there is always the _weekend_."

Miss Hammer handed me the piece of paper. It was good to know the trip to the library hadn't been a waste of time after all.

* * *

A/N Ok I really want to hear any questions or suggestions you may have. For this one I'd really like to see the feedback. I'm trying to make it as interesting as possible.

Oh there's no real set "time" for this story. If you can get that lol


	2. I Can Dream, Can't I

A/N So obviously this story is different. Still I'm happy some of you decided to stick around for a second chapter. If you decided to stick around for a third or fourth chapter etc etc...You won't be disappointed. Hopefully I've earned a line of credit from some of you XD I know this won't garner MW attention, but I'll try to make it just as good if not better.

Ok so this an AU, a twist on the world we know and love. So I've got to lay down some of that ole "world creation" so bear with me, as I lay down some foundation in the first three chapters.

* * *

There is a statue of my father at the top of the stairs leading to the double doors of the Go City Police Department. The statue was built in his honor after he retired, and it showcases him pointing out towards the heavens. There was an inscription at the base of him quoting Socrates. Something he did after capturing his biggest arch nemesis the infamous Slant Top for the very first time.

"_Nothing is to be preferred before justice_."

Where were the public vandals when you needed them?

Admittedly the statue perfectly captures his long bony jaw, and his chin jutting a v under a much too cheerful smile. It also captured his relatively thin eyebrows hovering over his almost beak-ish nose. He wore what he had on everyday for the last decade of his career as an officer, a fedora, a dark suit, a white shirt, and a necktie. He stood there before the department, surveying his city. He watched with all seeing, all knowing eyes. In those eyes I saw truly that I was a better detective, I was a better boxer, I was a better shot, I was smarter, I was more dedicated, I believed and I was on all accounts the better man.

"For he so feared the world, he left his only begotten son. To shed his blood, show that pain is love."

The source of the voice was the only reason I was standing here. So I turned around and a woman sauntered up to me wearing a dark blue two-piece wool sharkskin pants suit.

"Poetic, only problem is my father is still alive, unless you're referring to his retirement."

"I was" she said. "What a coincidence to find you here Will, I was going to call you today---"

I glanced down at her heels before cutting her off. "Agent Hobble, I am still wondering how you can chase anyone down while wearing that."

"Chase?" she said. "They barely let me get five steps away my desk; I may be the best marksman in the department but I hardly get any good looks at the field."

Unfortunately general consensus was that the jury was still out on female officers. G.P.D members of the opposite sex were mostly desk jockeys that were relegated to relaying sad news to friends and families of victims. There probably wouldn't even be any female officers if Elizabeth Director hadn't paved the way. Her induction into the D.O.I, the force in general, had been fiercely endorsed by my father when he was still on the job. Probably the second best thing he ever did in his life, me being the first.

Even with the internal hard-line attitude towards women in the department Betty scrapped her up the ladder, she was currently the head investigator of the D.O.I and making things slightly easier for all the other dames in the profession. Which was fine with me, if I was still on the force and I had to take in a partner, either Betty or Hobble would be higher up on my lists of potentials than any of the other regular male fixtures in that building.

"It's been a long time William; I wonder have you been sick? Suffering from a bout of "I"-strain."

In hindsight however Ms. Hobble's impeccable wit would probably lead to a tragic case of friendly fire.

"How is the original Officer Hobble?"

"You know father, since his retirement he does nothing but complain about one thing or another. Cigarettes going up a quarter have him depressed."

"End of western civilization, as we know it."

"Hey look at this." With a rather poor attempt at sleight of hand she pulled a pen from her suit pocket. She twirled it in her finger before letting it go. The pen drifted loosely in front of my face.

"Neat huh? It's anti-grav technology."

I batted the pen from my space. "Nice to see the alien technology is being put to good use. Does it even work?"

"I used it for a week and then it dried up" she admitted. "But I've got better news."

She smiled. Diana Hobble had a subtle smile, one that drew a person in. In the right situation it might be a source of contentment. She, Diana 'Sparkle' Hobble also had the remarkable ability to seemingly stare down at a person from above whether she was taller than them or not. Some might say her aura of intimidation was her charm, in addition to her lean figure. Now unlike the common knuckle dragger one could usually find in law enforcement I wasn't so insecure in my masculinity that I needed to demean the women in the workforce for the simple crime of gaining economic and political power." With that being said, rationally speaking, with a room for subjectivity, Diana was very….well with the use of common vernacular, "well put together." Her eyes were soft gray-blue and she had fine bones in her face. Diana had a very pretty mouth, firm, and at the same time full. Respectfully speaking she was the second most attractive woman on the force, but a very attractive woman nonetheless.

"Fix your eyes upon this Mister Du." She held up her arm. My eyes fell upon the two-way wrist radio, standard equipment for D.O.I detectives.

"You've earned your stripes. Yet you're still breaking in desks?"

"Some of us have to pay our dues; we don't all get to see the field in our first few months into the boy's club, even less get in the D.O.I as a rookie. Yeah, most of us don't have a great name behind us."

"I would find you're implication that my success came by birthright irksome, if I had not been overly qualified for the job before I even accepted the position."

"Ah yes how could I have forgotten Will, your superiority complex is only matched by your narcissism." Her grin was wide, of Cheshire quality. "Now how long have we known each other, William?"

I detested the name William, she knew that. However the simple answer to her question was "just about a lifetime." My father was an officer; her father was an officer, and they were both known to be department night owls. A few years into the job they learned that there was a need for some leisure in a good detective's life. Which is why they held a picnic in Go City Park every other Sunday, weather permitting. The picnic had an open invitation to any law enforcement officer in the area, if you had a badge in this city, you were welcome to drop by and unwind. During this Halcyon naive tinged era of my adolescence Diana and I exchanged tales of our respective father's bravery. For various reasons, I would usually end up with the last word on the matter. To save face Diana though she was younger than me would mount an attempt to either shove my face in the dirt or kiss me. Whatever punishment I got depended on her mood, as a small boy both options was equally as terrifying.

"We've know each other far longer than I'd like to think about."

"Then why is it, when I call you at home, you never answer it?"

"Don't take it as a personal slight against you; I don't pick up my home phone for anybody."

She placed a single finger upon her chin. "Yes your sister has mentioned that, which is why she has been urging me to get in touch with you. Somehow she has it in her head that we're good friends."

"Ah a misinterpretation on her part."

She nodded. "Clearly."

"We're acquaintances at best." I added.

Diana was one of the very few "brothers in arms" currently in the D.O.I who didn't bad mouth me to the papers during the "incident. " She was one of the few who pointed to my stellar record when asked about my competency. I was anything but ungrateful for that, but I figured what she did was out of a deep rooted respect she had always carried for my father. Two thirds of the Go City police force under the age of thirty would likely confirm they had been inspired by father. They were all sheep, though Diana was good at keeping her ovine tendencies to herself.

"Perhaps even less William."

"What does my sister want?" I blurted out.

"Well at tomorrow night's gala event at city hall. Kim Possible will be awarded with another humanitarian award by the city legislature."

If I was gambling man I would have bet money the award was brought into existence just to be handed to her. They might as well have named it after her. _Kim Possible to receive first ever Kim Possible award._ The very thought of it was too deliciously absurd not to bring a smile to my face.

"Your father is going to present the award."

She paused, I don't know whether it was for dramatic effect or if she had some preconceived notion of what my reaction would be. I gave her nothing but stone faced nonchalance.

"Your sister will be there, and she very much wants to see you. She missed you, and so does your dad."

I held no ill will towards my younger sister; I do care greatly for her. However at the moment I found myself questioning her sanity.

"I'm going to decline the invitation."

"I thought so" she nodded sadly to herself. "So what can I do for you William?"

"Maybe Diana you can enlighten me on the proper etiquette of asking an acquaintance for a favor."

"Come again?"

I sighed. "I need your help."

"Of course you do, that's the only time I ever see you."

She paused and I could see projected right there on forehead, the clockwork like gears of her mind rotating and revolving.

"Follow me" she gestured her head towards the station.

I must have hesitated because she began eying me curiously. "Are you afraid of going in?"

I was searching for an excuse when a frown snaked its way across her face. Diana was a compulsive frowner. More than once I commented that frowning did not add any aesthetic value to her face, but she never accepted my friendly critique.

Abruptly Diana turned on her heels. "She has the day off" she called out to me while stomping down towards the station. By then I had regained control of my legs and I followed, hating myself along the way for that show of weakness. I recalled the words of Jacques Benigne Bossuel who said "the greatest weakness of all is the great fear of appearing weak."

Rational profound words….that did nothing to soothe the fire of my embarrassment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Division of Investigation was founded by my father as a special task force of detectives specializing in dealing with the worst criminal offenders and handling the major crimes in the city. Officially it was a special branch of the G.P.D; unofficially it grew into its own organization. They had a separate budget from the rest of the police force, and the state even allowed officer to adopt the moniker of "Agent" which stemmed from one of the hackneyed catch phrases by father used to spew at criminals. "Surrender I am an agent of the law" or something along those lines.

All D.O.I members are detectives second or third grade, which is the top rank for an investigator. In division stations around the nation they'd supervise other detectives. However with the precedent my father set, an "agent" wasn't just a normal law enforcement officer. An agent had to be ready to adapt to any situation, whether it was negotiating for hostages, establishing a rapport with witnesses from all points on the spectrum of society, going under cover, disarming bombs, shooting it out with bank robbers, chasing down suspects, and dealing with the occasional mad scientist or any other joker who decided to put on a suit and set fire to office buildings. A D.O.I member, an agent, had to be everything at all times. In theory he was above all a genuine America hero, truth, justice and all that.

In theory.

Diana left me in her closet sized office after instructing me in the friendliest tone she could muster to not touch anything. Once she was out of eye sight I began combing through files messily strewn across her desk. Organization held a place beside tact as words that didn't have a place in Diana's vocabulary. I was still skimming through her notes when I heard her start a conversation just outside the door. The topic was well under way by the time I was able to pick out three distinct voices. Two strong and confident voices that belonged to Diana and possibly another agent, the third strained voice I assumed to be a civilian.

"…..I don't mind if you call me Cyrus."

"That's all well and good, there's no reason we all can't be friendly. However I'm going to ask you again are you a former villain Dr. Bortal?" I heard Diana ask firmly.

"What?" Cyrus' voice got another notch higher on the octave scale. "What do you mean?"

The other agent officer chimed in. "If you are a former villain who has complied with the ordinances described under the Reformation Act you would be registered to have "class four" scientific equipment in your home or "lair" instead of in an government authorized laboratory. So again are you a former villain?"

"Um…no."

Diana again. "Dr. Bortal, are you aware that civilians are not allowed to have potential doomsday devices in their home?"

"It wasn't a doomsday device……I uh….used it to heat the house!"

"You're looking at five to ten for the possession of banned high technology."

Bortal squealed. "But that's what I've been telling you guys. I no longer have it. Someone stole it a few months ago!"

"And you're now reporting it?"

"Well it's just that, I've been thinking about it...and well....the decimatrix has the potential to be dangerous if uh it fell into the wrong hands. I couldn't in all good conscious let it float around out there."

"You call the device the decimatrix?" The second agent remarked.

"It's a tentative title……but that's not important, what's important is that I was accosted in my home and it was stolen from my grasp."

"Did you get a look at who the perpetrator was?

"He had a mask on so I didn't see his face. I assume it is a "him" by the lack of uh feminine attributes that would be present due to the rather closeness of the clothing to the burglar's body. He was dressed in black though and did have a strange laugh."

"Laugh?"

"It was rather villainous"

Diana sighed loudly. "Anyway Agent Olsen, take down Dr Bortal's statements. Oh you might as well get a street file ready in advance I've got a feeling top brass will send this one in for consultation work."

Every time I heard the phrase "consultation work" it made me want to laugh. A case being processed for consultation meant that the D.O.I would unofficially pass the street file along to Wade Load. The street file was a summarized account of the case. In it is compiled all the data gathered during an investigation. The really detailed ones had day to day chronology of the investigation. When the street file got to Mr. Load it was a Team Possible affair and no one from the D.O.I would ever get another sniff of it. I had yet to figure out the exact requirements that deemed a case worthy of consultation. But if the case was unusual enough, or if a victim specifically asked for Kim Possible, then there was a good chance it would head their way.

Diana walked back into the room and offered onto me her friendliest glare. I held up her case notes.

"Difficult case?"

She snatched the notes out of my hand and took her place on the other side of the desk.

"Why do you care?"

"Tell me about it."

With obvious reluctance she started to spill. "The Angel Club…..is a very elaborate gambling establishment in a formerly abandoned warehouse at the wharf. They are very unlicensed in everything they do. They've got unsanctioned robot rumble matches every weekend, when people are not betting on the matches, they're playing cards and roulette. At least we have information that they do. Last week some of our guys surrounded the place and beat at the thick wooden doors; two minutes later someone steps out and invites the boys in. We found dozens of people just milling round chatting. We're assuming they're using light weight tables with breakaway legs, but it seems impossible that they could stash them and the robots in less than two minutes.

"Quite the conundrum."

She nodded. "So enough about me troubles, what do you want?"

I ran my hands together. "I'm thinking of writing a mystery yarn, send in a story to a magazine like Dark Mask, you know that one right? Anyway I was inspired by the Fiske angle and I think I might do a piece on it."

We stared at each other, I smiled, and she smiled. I didn't want to smile, she didn't want to smile

But there we were.

"Monkey Fist?"

"Should make for a good story, it's got a good angle. The unsolved mystery of a former criminal, people eat stuff like that up."

"The Department is still working that case."

"Which is why I'm here, I'm trying to check my facts."

"See I can't help you much, this particular case is being lead by Fritz and Bo. They're running this ship, and it's a tight ship."

I conjured up the faces that went with the names. Agent Fritz Ellroy was a cagey veteran. The most he's read of any book was the title, but he was clever, cunning, tough, and he had very honed instincts due to years of experience. He was the kind of officer the department would always love. As for Agent Bo Vyne when he said "hello" he was telling you everything he knew. He was muscle in every sense of the word. Though he wouldn't give you any deep thoughts, he'd follow orders like a dog. Guys like him were also valuable to the department, they'd never be handed the reins but they were great backup.

I was beginning to say something when Diana cut me off. "And they're working directly for the DA, you remember Mr. Nelson right? He's taken a special interest in this case."

The DA? I didn't know why he was involved. But it wasn't very unusual for detectives to be given special assignments from the DA's office. This did shed a little light on the tight seal that was around this case.

"I know you're not directly involved in the case Diana, but an ambitions officer like you surely would have taken some interest in a case of magnitude."

"You know regulations. I'm not supposed to talk so freely to civilians."

I ran my hand through my hair. "Completely off the record, you have my word."

Her knuckles tapping against her desk, she thought about it for a long while.

"OK, tell me what you know, and I'll fill in a few blanks if I can with the little I know."

I spilled what I learned from the newspapers. She listened as she stared up at the ceiling. When I finished she glanced down back at me with a grunt. "Well at least I know you've been reading the papers."

"The papers don't really say anything. That's why I'm here."

"This is trouble William. They'll have my scalp."

I persisted. "It's just a story. Can't you tell me anything?"

Diana hesitated. "I don't know much about the creative process but there are a few things you might be able to _imagine_. Like there being multiple bruises on his body."

"Alright I imagine that would be the result of a fight."

"An epic fight worthy of the pictures. Imagine a scenario where a part of the house was trashed, where it looked like someone took him to the woodshed."

"What do you think such a scenario would mean to the reader."

"That the act was personal."

"That's an interesting interpretation." I said.

"That would be my interpretation if the scenario played out with the killer possibly being someone Fiske knew, was expecting, or didn't consider a threat. For example if there was no visible sign of forced entry. If the perpetrator did beat the straw out of Fiske, and then "coup de graced" him with a laser blast; that would seem personal to me."

"I appreciate the sensitive approach you have to this."

"You know how it is."

I did actually know how it was. An overly sympathetic detective is not a rational detective. Brilliant, rational detectives are able to see things amid the insignificant details and the noise that normal people can't tune out. Distancing yourself from a crime helped in seeing things objectively.

"Finger prints…foot prints…someone's tooth knocked out?"

"Only agents working the crime scene would know anything about that."

I thought about it. What she said about it being personal was a bit of a stretch but not that big of one. It would have helped if I wasn't getting the information third hand. I reflected on this for a moment and decided to continue.

"I recall Fiske being a martial artist…a very good one. To borrow a popular term, not any old "square" can waltz into Fiske's personal space and take him down.

"That is a reasonable assessment."

"Anything else I might need to imagine?"

Diana sighed. "There might be some minor valuables missing according to DNAmy."

"What about her mutants, maybe they saw something?"

"It's public knowledge that DNAmy's only allowed one live-in mutant."

"Witnesses?"

"No witnesses, not even an elderly neighbor who heard a shot in the night."

"Suspects?"

"Tons probably."

"Anyone connected to a thievery ring?"

"What thievery ring angle?"

"Don't know or won't tell?"

"Either way I've got nothing to say about it."

"That angle scare you guys off? Is that why there's been nothing in the papers but rumors? If I were running a discreet operation, I wouldn't want the bad guys to know I was completely on to them."

Diana stood up. "Sorry, that's all I know if you want you can to talk Ellroy or……maybe Captain Director?"

"Never mind… I'm tired of being fed through eye drops anyway" I rose and headed for the exit.

I stepped out of the door. The station didn't look like much at first glance. The brown carpeting was atrocious and did nothing to compliment the rest of the room. A room that was surprisingly large when one took the time to look around. It had rows of desks running from wall to wall; said walls were covered with crime reports, wanted posters and all types of memorabilia. A map of Go City covered most of the windows on one side of the room and three large file cabinets spilled folders out onto the ground in the opposite corner of the room. There were about a dozen people roaming about, and they tragically were all male. Almost everyone was wearing a formal dark blue suit, white shirt, conservative tie, and shoes buffed to the gleam. All of them were copying the precedent set by my father. And in his memory they had all lined up to thrust a knife in my back. Yes I had taken charge of the case, yes I did try everything in my power to work it solo, but I followed procedure, I gave detailed reports of all my actions. They agreed and supported all my theories. But when the time came somehow no one knew what I was up to, I was a prima donna. I was using my father's name to work cases without my fellow coworker's approval.

Blatant lies all of it.

I stepped into the room and all heads snapped towards me. There were various looks ranging from curiosity to disapproval coming my way. Standing there caught in their cross hairs, I couldn't be sure what they were all thinking, but there was a current of negativity in the air. Whatever they thought about me personally I was sure about one thing. A few years had gone by, but everyone here knew deep down, that I was still the best detective in this city.

Approaching me from the side was an ex teammate who went by the name of Aaron Bouy. Not long before I left the department, it was revealed to me that Mr. Bouy had seen me as a rival. I did not hold any such thoughts about Buoy; my sights had temporarily shifted from my father to America's red headed sweetheart. That being said, as far as I knew he wasn't crooked so he had something going for him there.

"Well" I greeted causally. "Nice to see you again Aaron."

He gave me the eyes, typical law enforcement grilling. Intimidation technique that was an old move back when Hannibal crossed the Alps, but every man who swore on a badge still used it like he just came up with it on the spot.

"I'm Aaron to my friends and other Agents." He smiled a clean boyish smile "To you I'm Agent Bouy."

This display of alpha male aggression would have been farcical if it wasn't so droll. His shoulders were stiff, emphasizing his solid build. He had a few inches on me in height and in the length of his two front teeth. His light blue eyes were topped with stiff eyebrows. A mop of raven colored hair sat on his head and it made him look older than he was.

"I understand Agent Buoy, it is easier to hate then to admire and respect."

He sneered. "Gumshoeing must have clouded your memory Mr. Du. _Civilians_ don't belong here. If you have a problem I can get an officer to help you file a report downstairs. If not I'll have to take you in for obstructing official detective work."

I would have loved to see him try. "Here's a friendly suggestion for you Agent Bouy, try and think twice before you speak once."

He blinked stupidly at me. Then his fist clenched and he tensed up. I'd seen Agent Buoy use his fists in the line of duty before. He favored right hooks and head butts. Typical brawler, I would have given him five moves before I broke his nose.

"Alright boys, you can whip them out and measure them on your own time." Diana said as she casually passed between us. "Aaron, I let Will in, he was filing a complaint about his landlord and I was doing him a favor, he's on his way home _now_."

Stammering profusely Aaron watched Diana pass by. I took the opportunity to brush past him. I was four or five steps in stride before I heard Aaron's voice once again.

"You know the difference between you and your father!"

A juvenile ploy.

As if some superficial comparison between me and my father would be enough to garner any sort of internal reaction…. The problem with his theory was that no matter what he could say I knew I was a better agent than my father. The difficulty lay in presenting this as a genuine fact to the rest of the world.

"Your dad was ruthless to crime and criminals but he was likable to everyone else….Your father was hard as nails, he had better instincts than anyone who has ever worn a badge, and he had respect for the job. It's open for debate about you on most of those things but you damn sure aren't likable. You don't give respect and you sure don't deserve it."

With blatant disregard for sanitary etiquette he spat on the floor, turned his back on me and walked away. I had underestimated his flair for dramatics as I had overestimated the thickness of my skin. Most if not all he said was utter nonsense, either a complete falsehood or faulty perception. First of all likability should have little to no merit in the discussion of skill. Yet here I was emotionally stung. A mighty lion hindered by the yap of a desert coyote. I was contemplating my inward reaction when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I turned towards Diana,

"You all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine." I answered.

She smiled. "Good then it's time for you to leave."

Diana then roughly guided me towards the door.

Right before she pushed me through them, she asked. "Do you regret leaving the force?"

It was by all accounts an abrupt question. Yet there was an earnest look upon her face and a rare softness in the tone of her voice.

"Regret? I made a decision. Regret is mental suicide Diana. My philosophy is so, if things turn out good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, you call it experience."

"How very profound." She said right before shoving me into a dimly lit speckled black and white linoleum hallway and shutting the door in my face.

It occurred to me how rotten this place was inside and out. The building was shoddily constructed. The floors sagged. The plumbing leaked, and paint peeled in almost all the rooms. I contemplated my time there as I stared at the letters of _D.O.I_ embolden on the double doors.

Fortunately I was accustomed to tense atmospheres and ill will towards myself. I've been accused of hubris, and also on occasion, that I've 'deluded myself' into thinking I was heaven blessed to be a detective. This is frivolous thinking at best. As much as I would love to brag about it, truthfully I am not naturally gifted in all things I do. I am thankful for having an efficient memory, pronounced capacity for learning, and a talented eye for observation. But much of my "talents" did not stem from genetics or divine inspiration. Before I had even officially decided my path to walk on, I was already living as a law enforcement agent vicariously through the Elder Du. As a child I consciously tried to absorb any piece of my father's life as an officer that he brought back to the family. In my teens I struggled through law books, my father's case files, and any other case files I could get my hand on with a dictionary and thesaurus by my side, I read police procedurals to bed...Instead of throwing a baseball around in the park I practiced marksmanship. Between my tutoring sessions for my normal academic life, I took up chess, track, swimming, boxing, crossword puzzles, basic martial arts, and even drag racing, not one of them did I do solely for the sake of enjoyment. I did it all to train my mind….my reflexes…my body. Relationships lasted the lifespan of a fruit fly and were spurned on mostly from primal necessity. True moments of leisure were far and few in between, acquaintances hardly ever graduated to friends because a) there was little to be gained from the numerous interactions b) they were fawning dolts for me father. For various reasons family was kept at arm's length as much as possible. I made sure I learned to run before I even crawled.

I figured in the end I have a right to believe I'm the best, I paid the cost to do so.

Turning away from the doors, I made my way straight to the exit. My thoughts were that I should leave before someone else decided I needed a dressing down.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

All great detectives have an external source that helps brace their nerves or settle their proficient yet troubled minds. Sherlock Holmes had his love of the violin and occasional drug usage; Philip Marlowe has a taste for whiskey in large qualities. If someone inquired about my modus agendi I quickly replied that it would be with the compositional pieces of European music of the Late Romantic Era. However if pressed for the truth I would have to admit that a number of my moments of clarity occurred in the presence of a middle aged, stoop shouldered, white haired doorman who stood watch before my building. I initially took interest in the man when I noticed that he appeared to take much pride in his tattered doorman attire. Pride in such a menial task….it was in a way endearing in its absurdity. What impact could such a job have upon the world?

Still I could not deny there was an aura of polished nobility around the man, but after striking a conversation with him I realized he was incurably dull. But there was a hypnotic effect in his monotone delivery of everyday news. It had the effectiveness of, for reasons unknown to me, the sound of the surf lapping against the beach.

"These kids today…..I don't know…every day they seem more impossible. I saw a fella the other day with what they call a duck tail hair cut. I'm saying it makes it impossible to stay groomed with hair like that. Next thing you know, boys will be wearing their hair as long as the girls."

As he blathered on, my mind began to wander freely.

The Amy Hall situation was as they say "gnawing at my gut." It was easy enough to conclude that I felt a measure of sympathy for Ms. Hall. She was a walking cliché; a woman who may have loved and trusted a little too much. But hitching along with my conscience, was the more powerful and nagging feeling that if I didn't help I would not be living up to my own billing as a great detective. There was a Chinese proverb that stated 'The Gods cannot help those who do not seize opportunities." I had woken with this feeling and it hadn't gone away, in fact it had given way to the sense of inevitability that I usually had when I started a new case. It was a feeling that I was there…here in this position for a reason.

Slipping away from the doorman's lecture concerning the evils of the hula hoop, I ducked back into the building. I rushed into my place and dialed up Diana.

A thought had occurred to me about something I had learned today, and I was now a salmon swimming upstream.

Diana picked up the phone on the second ring.

"I think I might be able to make it to the party after all." I told her.

"Speaking twice in a single day? We sure are making up for lost time aren't we?"

I ignored her statement. "Tell my sister I'll be there."

"Why, the change of heart?"

I quoted Blaise Pascal. "The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing."

There was a long pause before I heard her sigh heavily. "Truer words have never come from your mouth William; however it doesn't correspond with your usual motif."

"We can discuss my complex idiosyncrasies and nuances, or we can discuss the fact that since I left the department this afternoon I've been giving your case a little thought…The Angel Club situation….." I let my words trail off.

"And?"

"The people, it's easier to move people than it is to move the robots or the gambling equipment."

"What?"

"Check the architectural plans for the warehouse. When they were constructed, the mayor of the city at the time commissioned that they be built with bomb shelters. You know in case of nuclear fallout and all that."

Another pause. "I didn't know that."

"Most people don't….but most don't figure it pays to keep tabs on the history of the city you're working in. I do. If you check the blueprints, you'll probably find an underground shelter and that's where they're holding the fights. When we come knocking they move everyone back to the top."

Diana swore to herself…..loudly.

"Tell me again why you're not married?"

"Because I'm dedicated to my work" she snapped. "I've got to call…"

"Go straight to Bet…..the Captain" I instructed. "Don't tell anyone else about it until you tell her face to face. "

"Why not?"

I started to say something but stopped myself short. Now was not the time. "You can trust her."

"Why---?"

I interjected. "You trust me don't you?"

"Irrationally so…"

"Good then take my advice. Besides you do want to get to the field right, bypass everyone and take your theory to the boss. It's the only logical way to get ahead."

"It's not my theory…."

"Yes it is…or else I'm going to have to charge you a consultation fee…..By the way if you ever run across the street file for the Fiske case, how about you make a copy and mail it to me."

"Why would I do that?" She asked.

"Out of the goodness of your heart."

I hung up before she could reply, then I returned to the door man. Apparently our colloquium was now concerning the recent weather. The summer heat was gone and the traditional hard biting cold weather of the city had not arrived. The air was fresh and the night seemed unnaturally clear for this part of the city.

"October in the city is the best" he crowed. "It's beautiful, but it's also sad."

I agreed the fall was indeed the most beautiful time of the year but I inquired where the sadness stemmed from.

"It's very sad" he shrugged. "Because you know winter is coming."

* * *

A/N Hey you read it cool, now tell me what you think. Hopefully you liked it. Kim and Ron make their first appearance in the next chapter. If you've got any questions concerning the story, send them my way, as long as they're not plot points I'll be happy to answer it. Oh don't worry I haven't forgotten about my other stories. LOL


	3. Little Things Mean A Lot

A/N Anyone out there?

*crickets*

XD Thanks to those of you still hanging in here. The first three chapters were basically an introduction. The pace will pick up from here on. Kim and Ron show up for the first time. Trust me they're going to play major roles in the story.

* * *

The Mintz-Estleman is wildly regarded as the top hotel in Go City. Conveniently located in the heart of the city, it features such front side attractions like doormen in shiny black overcoats bowing at the waist calling everyone by "sir" or "ma'am." Right off the bat the hotel staff attempted to make the guests feel superior to everyone outside their walls. I smoothed out my suit with my hands as I walked across the red carpet that led past the front doors and into the vast lobby of the hotel. I may not have really wanted to be here but that didn't mean I wasn't going to look my best.

I drifted away from the lobby into the Grand Ballroom. It was a gala event, so an orchestra was set on the second level overlooking the festivities in order to maximize space. There was a podium at one end of the room and the other end led to large French doors that opened into an outdoor patio overlooking the lights of the city. It was a really beautiful room that benefited greatly from a Georgian architectural style. I accepted a glass of champagne from a roving waiter and I took a moment to appreciate the gentle tune coming from the orchestra. Realizing they weren't playing anything I recognized I lost interest and decided to look around. A woman possibly in her early forties seated across the room crossed her legs and caught my eye. I was weighing the pros and cons when someone who presented much less potentiality for future fun sidled into my field of vision.

We noticed each other at the same time, and he immediately started towards me. This person was a middle-aged Southern gentleman wearing a panama hat and a cape over a cream-colored linen suit. The man's name was Deacon Turner, once known as "The Southern Dandy" a former staple of my father's infamous rogue's gallery

"William Du, I can scarcely contain my glee. It's been much too long since I've seen you in person!"

"It has been awhile Uncle Deacon."

It would be a tremendous understatement for me to describe my relationship with this former criminal as _strange_. It was a peculiar attachment that went back a long way. In the height of his power the criminal mastermind SlantTop had gathered a few of my fathers' nemesis to form a criminal super group. It wasn't the first time villains banded together against my father or the D.O.I and it wouldn't be the last. But this particular instance was one of SlantTop's better schemes. He had ordered that I be kidnapped. It was and still is to this day a social taboo on both sides of the law for arch villains to involve the very young children of his foes in their diabolical plots. Ever the non conformist SlantTop had me successfully plucked from the cafeteria of my private school. A few of his cohorts had misgivings about the kidnapping but going against SlantTop's wishes had its obvious health risks. Still as long as the child was unharmed physically and my father was annihilated the ends would presumably justify the means. Those parameters did not last long. Cain Du and the D.O.I overcame slowly collapsing ceilings, hypnotized assassins, and cryptic riddles. As they seemingly snatched victory from the jaws of defeat once again, SlantTop in a fit of madness ordered that I be killed. The Southern Dandy being directly descended from Robert E. Lee could not stand to have his honor besmirched by being known as a child killer. Deacon double crossed his partners and returned me to my father. Cain Du was grateful; he befriended the villain and convinced him to give up his life of crime. Deacon turned his back on villainy and assisted my father in various exploits, in turn my father worked to have his rap sheet expunged. In hindsight this was excellent foreshadowing for some of my father's future actions, and one could easily say it paved some of the road for the Reformation Act down the line.

Deacon continues to work by my father's side as a supervisor in the security firm he founded after his retirement from the D.O.I. Though we were not related by blood my father insisted his children call all close friends of his uncle. It wasn't that I was ungrateful to the man who saved my life but it was a practice that I yearned to be free from.

"I must confess that I was at a lost when I heard of your separation with the D.O.I, an egregious error on their part in every manner possible."

I offered him my best smile. "If you're looking for a dissenting opinion Uncle Deacon you won't get it from me."

"In addition I was also stunned to hear that you've become a private investigator, a most irregular line of occupation for someone of your intellectual caliber. And plainly speaking son, you don't fulfill the common expectations of the traditional American P.I."

"Well uncle as they say 'most things genuine aren't what you expect.'"

He grinned. "Oh, indeed, indeed. I am happy to see that fire still burning in your eyes William. I can safely say I am sufficiently relieved of my former concern. Though of course with the passage of time if your father were to offer a kind word in your behalf, I'm sure your reinstatement could be achieved."

His very suggestion rankled. But I was able to remain polite.

"It's a fair suggestion uncle, but I believe I mustn't rely on my father to correct my mistakes. I am a man who wishes to bring about his own success."

He patted me on the shoulder and laughed. "A very commendable attitude, however do not discount the aid of your father. He wasn't known as a miracle worker for naught. I do recall in years yonder him speaking proudly of your knowledge of law; I do believe he envisioned you as a big city lawyer. That is still a possibility. Our firm is growing every day and a business can never have enough lawyers."

I wanted to change the subject but I realized that were I to continue this conversation I would never be able to get rid of him. Any and all conversation with the man would invariably return to the topic of my father. And with each uttering of praise my levy of civility would come close to breaking.

Beyond Deacon, Diana materialized before my very eyes. I caught her eye and she started over.

"Diana is heading over" I said.

Deacon craned his neck around for a look and then he returned his attention to me. I stared attempting to "will" him away from my personal space. He must have picked up on something because he cracked a broad smile.

"Ah the fair lady Hobble….such is the springtime of youth, another adventure to begin I suppose. But then the very essence of youth cultivates adventures. A fact often remarked upon by the poets of the Romantic era."

He tipped his hat to me. "Well William perhaps we shall speak more at another time. For now I shall bid you adieu and luck in all matters of occupation and courtship."

Deacon slipped away and was engulfed by a gaggle of society types who wanted a moment of his time. Diana approached in a purple & lilac strapless dress.

"Mr. Turner sure rushed off."

"Long story." I said as I looked her over. "I suppose I should say you've gotten beautiful over the years but you've probably already heard it."

"Not from you." She drew an arm through mine and she pulled across the ballroom floor "So what do you think of the party?"

"What am I supposed to think?"

"That interacting with the major movers of the city can be enjoyable...That it is fun mingling with your peers?"

Peers?

I glanced around and saw Agent Bouy standing beside a punch bowl glowering at me. Down the table I saw the James and Anne Possible conversing with Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable. My eyes continued to roam and I noticed that along with some of the city's legislatures most of the police force had been invited as well which explained why Diana and Bouy were here.

Peers indeed……

"Inhaling paint fumes can be enjoyable as well but that usually leaves me with a bout of nausea." I said to her.

Diana likely replied with something laced with snark but unfortunately my attention had gone elsewhere. I was watching Elizabeth Director stroll along the far side of the room with an immaculate, elegant flow you couldn't even learn. It had to come natural. If Diana looked very good, and she did, the widow Director looked exquisite. She was wearing a dress, an off white colored silk that accentuated the hourglass shape while making her body look alive and restless underneath. Like a British poet once said "in life, as in art, the beautiful moves in curves."

"The captain is gorgeous isn't she?"

I looked away. "If you say so."

"You can say so too William, it's not a sin."

I wasn't going to explain something to Diana she couldn't possibly understand. She had no idea how it felt to revert to a little boy again in that woman's presence. A little boy coming of age with a primate named desire continuously scratching at your back. Reverting back to a time where every attractive passing girl was a kick to the unmentionables. Diana and I suppose many women can't understand the way it could hurt. The longing cannot be described, yet it was quite palpable.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes I am… why wouldn't I be?"

"Remember when I asked you about regret the other day. Well to be more specific I meant don't you ever doubt yourself, with decisions you've made about life….love and the like?"

"Diana when I make a decision about something, I try to make it based on facts, and how things are supposed to fit together. Things only fit in one way, you find the way and you can't be wrong."

She stared back at me with pure skepticism. "You of all people _William_ should now that facts can change, things don't always fit the way they should."

"Diana if a fact changes it was never a fact in the first place; it was at best a theory. There are no errors in facts, only in the fact finder."

She sighed loudly. "Sometimes I wonder…"

"Wonder about what?"

Diana stopped walking, placed her hand on my lower back and pushed. "I wonder why you continue to avoid your little sister."

I stumbled into a hug from my little sister. The polite thing to do was hug back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My little sister Welta was fourteen. She was the spitting image of my mother and she was quite mature for her age. As I pulled away from the embrace, she brushed her bangs away to showcase her lit up face. It was an amusing sight because I fondly recalled her fussing over her hair through the years. Her bangs grew at least three times as fast as the rest of her hair, and it must have taken her a lifetime to force them into lying flat for this party.

"You look quite impeccable this evening Welta."

She smiled brightly."Thank your brother. You look quite handsome tonight….Though Will, you know it's normal for men to be married at your age. How long are you planning on this bachelor lifestyle?"

Needless to say I was significantly taken aback.

Welta shook her head slowly. "Your issues with commitment will only become a detriment to you down the road."

"I have a theory that it's his taste in women that is the problem." Diana snickered as she eyed me.

"Oh really?" my sister commented. "Then again I've noticed he does have a bit of a wandering eye."

I was significantly appalled.

I peered over at Diana for a moment and she was grinning from ear to ear. I found myself stammering. "This is an inappropriate topic for a party. And I do not mean to cast vulgar opinions upon my own sister, but I find your frankness to be very unladylike"

They laughed, moaning happily with their hands on waist. It was humiliating. I was ready to walk away when my sister let out a high pitched squeal.

"There they are."

I followed her eyes and watched Team Possible floating into the room hand in hand accompanied by a deafening applause. Possible appeared happy and poised while greeting those around them. Stoppable greeted and smiled, but he looked more than slightly uncomfortable. Our ambitious young DA Walter Nelson strolled up to them with his own flock behind him and shook both their hands. I recalled hearing they were former classmates in elementary school. I turned my attention back to my sister and saw that her eyes were as wide as saucers. Welta could have been chosen to represent the average Go City citizen with her holding both Kim and my father close to her heart.

I turned back to the stars of the hour. I had run into enough alpha females in my lifetime to recognize an archetype when I saw one. This was Kim Possible, she was smart, athletic gifted and had a mental toughness in dangerous situations that far and away exceeded most of her female peers. I speak from experience as I've cooperated with her once or twice when my former career and her hobby happened to intersect. She was more than competent in the field of crime fighting but strangely she held no high opinion of herself, her looks, and her skills. That is she didn't beyond the contrived "I can do anything" motto that she spouted every now and then, something that was obviously a defense mechanism of some kind. When we first met I perceived her to be a stark amateur. That assessment had to change over the years. She deserved the temporary label of number one; she deserved to be a benchmark to be surpassed.

"She's beautiful" my sister crowed.

Kim Possible's beauty was what I would describe as elegantly awkward. Something that one would notice if you had experienced her alternating between a dignified hero and a deftly concealed childlike demeanor. Now Kimberly Possible, with the lack of significant curves notwithstanding, was very attractive, but I wasn't all that attracted to her. This had nothing to do with her looks, which leaned towards the traditional beauty, I just found her a tad too chaste. The material was there of course but she didn't project much sensuality…physically.

But all that of course, was irrelevant to my case.

I watched her wave to her following and they loved her for it. Ron Stoppable stood besides her simply "existing" in the moment. For years during their rise to "hero-dom" people wondered why she spent most of her spare time with her socially less impressive sidekick, it came across as puzzling. For a long time it was widely assumed the relationship with Ron was just a relic of childhood, that changed when they became a couple. When that happened there came a collective "oh…I see…really?" from the masses and the gossip columns. Because obviously there wasn't anything better to discuss. The coupling soon became the stuff of fairy tales and added more to the legend, the "social outcast" sidekick and the head "strong princess" hero coming together. The press ate it up. However unlikely, a coupling it may seem. I could see the appeal from an outside perspective.

Though, it was much too saccharine for my liking.

Mercifully before I could muse upon the "intricacies" of their relationship, I saw my father walking across the room to a chorus of applause equal to the one given to Team Possible. He took his place at the podium and snatched up the microphone that was waiting for him there. The crowd grew quiet and he began to speak.

"We're here to honor, heroism and courage in its purest form. There comes the time when the world needs a hero…Kim Possible is a model for us all…."

My pain threshold already significantly breached I began to give serious consideration to the possibility of drowning myself in the closest bowl of punch.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What do you think?"

My father had just wrapped up his talk when Diana moved close with a glass of champagne in hand.

My focus still on Team Possible I told her what I thought. "I think Kim Possible is used to the praise so she's in her element, there are no signs of stress or any peculiar mannerisms. Stoppable appears uncomfortable but in some circumstances you can consider him socially stunted. A high class party like this would likely unnerve him a bit. He's known to be an odd character so any unusual activity coming from him might be a natural affair"

A looked at Diana. "I'll have to get closer…."

"What?!"

My memories of working with Team Possible were a grand asset at the moment. I'd seen Possible jump out of a blimp without a parachute. And I'd seen Stoppable reveal intimate personal secrets about his life to villains attempting to kill him. If anyone was going to give me something it would be him,

Diana waved her palm before my face. "What are you looking for?"

"I don't know yet."

Suddenly it seemed like my father was rearing up for another speech. I couldn't imagine there was any more kind descriptions of Possible left.

"Now we're here to honor Kim Possible, but behind every great hero is a great sidekick…."

I chuckled. I knew where this was headed. Even though Possible has to purposely mention his name for reporters to put it in print, a bone is thrown to Stoppable every now and then. Such is the life of the world's greatest sidekick. Ironically I've never heard Possible call him a sidekick herself. For their own personal reasons they viewed themselves as a partnership. A partnership where one person got much more recognition than the other.

My father called Ron Stoppable up. It was obviously a pre-rehearsed act that was meant to appear spontaneous. Kim playfully dragged her beau towards the stage while he held a look of faux shock on his face. The crowd cheered, it felt to me like the cheers the audience of a circus gives a clown, but I've been known to have a cynical look on some things. Stoppable stepped up my father handed him his own microphone.

"Sorry Ron we don't have an award for you, the treasury ran out of gold." My father said.

The raucous laughter from the audience made my aware of the obviously rampant disingenuous that had to have been going around the room.

He continued. "So how can we make it up to you?"

Stoppable ran his hand across the back of his neck. "Hey how about we sing Ron's song?"

This entire sequence was as spontaneous as an arranged marriage.

"Alright let's do Ron's song!" My father shouted.

The crowd cheered. My father signaled for the orchestra. The audience hushed as the music began to play

"_Here's a happy tune_…." My father "sang talked."

"----_A happy tune_----" Ron belted into the microphone.

"_You'll love to croon_…."

"---_You'll love to croon_---"

"_They call it Cain's song_….."

Mock confusion on Stoppable's face. Chuckles from the audience. Stoppable continued "sing talking."

"----_Hey, you don't seem to understand_---"

"_Catchy as can be_….."

"---_I must agree_---"

"_The melody_….."

"----_The melody_---"

"_They call it Cain's song_….."

Stoppable glanced at the chortling audience and then back at my father. "---Looks like I'm gonna have to explain this thing. You don't dig this scene, I'm saying Cain. The song is Ron's song---"

My father shook his head. "_Ron, you're just a ham…._"

"-----_But Cain, here's the scam: the song was named after Ron_---"

The horror, the horror.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"-----I_t's-a-sweet-melody-and-I'm-happy-to-say-it-was-named-after-me-but-he's-calling-it_---" Ron sang quickly.

"Clyde's song!" My father sang-interrupted. "_Catchy as can be_…."

"---_Now-I-don't-like-to-beef-and-I'm-sorry-to-say-this-man-is-a-thief-cause-he's-calling-it_---"

"_Clyde's song…Nothing on your mind_....?"

Heaven only knew how much I feared for my mental state at that moment.

"----_There's-a lot-on-my-mind-and-I'm-standing-here-saying-you're-being-unkind-because-you're-calling it_--"

"_Clyde's song….._"

Ron then pretended to be walking away. "---_My Italian friend we have reached the end. We simply don't seem to blend_---"

My father reached out for him as he attempted to keep himself from laughing at his own antics. "_Ron, let's compromise….da da da da ah….We'll call it Ron's song_!"

Ron turned around gleefully. "_Did he say Ron's song?!_"

The moronic crowd cheered out loud. I was surrounded.

Together they sang and danced with their feet kicked up high. "_Let's give the ending a rise_!"

"---_But, don't nobody tell Clyde_---"

"_That the name of this song!_"

"----_Is Ron's song_---"

Chest out Stoppable paced about. "---_It's not Kim Possible's song_----"

Immense laughter echoed from the audience.

"_Ron's song……_" my father sang softly.

"---_It's not even Wade's song_---"

"_It's Ron's song_…..""

Stoppable turned to my father. "The only thing I know is if we put out a record, it better have Ron's song on it. Or else you gonna get a nasty letter from Calhoun...and a telephone call too!"

Applause.

Mercifully the song ended. It got a large ovation from mostly everyone in the room. My sister tugged on my sleeve and asked if I enjoyed it. There was no real way to casually mention that it was an abysmal travesty without her taking offense, so I just distanced myself from her.

"Maybe you liked it better when it was called Will's song?" Diana whispered to me as I tried to slink off. She said it as if she were reminding me of an embarrassing but essentially sweet era of our giggly past.

I shot her a look. Welta was probably too young to remember that my father and I had performed a variation of that routine during one of his Sunday picnics. Diana remembered the routine because it's part of her precious memories. I remembered the routine simply because I had an excellent memory. I deflected anymore inquiries into those Halcyon days from both Diana and my sister. I wasn't here for a trip down memory lane. I was here for one reason, it was a definite shot in the dark but I had to make sure I didn't miss the opportunity.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The award had been given out, the spectacle was over, and the guests were finally allowed to mingle once again. I set my sights on the blond target and navigated through the crowd. The thing about Stoppable was that contrary to popular belief he was a person of true substance. Yes he was an unabashed idiot and given to wild self dramatization, but I've seen him directly or indirectly pull victory from defeat. In his own way, if you had the patience to put up with his antics, he was very reliable. Team Possible had momentarily separated while Stoppable remained at his table to finish off his meal. I sidled next to him as he shoveled food into his mouth.

"Packing it in, aren't you?"

"Huh?" He glanced up at me and then down at his plate. "Oh."

He grinned suddenly, it was goofy yet somehow it really did light up this section of the room. Whenever someone describes Ron Stoppable in a positive light you'll hear abstract phrases such as childlike wonder. Which in most contexts means nothing, however when you attempt to stare into the goof's hazel eyes. And I had the opportunity to on our very first meeting. When you stare into them you notice they have a tendency to twinkle, like a child at a carnival.

Recognition took longer than I appreciated to come to his face. Though it seemed when he did recognize me, he didn't know what to do about it. Depending on the angle one looked at, Possible did have a significant hand in me losing my job. So it's likely that would put him in an awkward position. Though why he would even dwell on that for any length of time was beyond me and reason.

"Will…Will Du, geeze it's been like…..like…how long has it been like?"

"Awhile." I said.

"That long?" He smiled.

I gestured to a free chair. "May I sit down?"

He looked over his shoulders, then back at me.

"Yeah sure, Kim's still doing her thing. So knock yourself out. Grab a roll of bread while you're at it… they're so soft."

I sat down. His rodent friend was lapping some soup up across the table, I greeted it with a nod and it happily squeaked some sort of greeting at me.

"You look a little pale Stoppable are you alright?"

"I don't do well at these things" he said.

"But you've been too dozens of these events."

"I know but they still make me anxious."

"Anxious? Don't you dodge laser fire as a hobby?"

He laughed. "I know it sounds weird but this is a completely different animal…Believe it or not things are a lot more predictable and easier to manage during missions."

He leaned forward and began to whisper. "And don't tell Kim cuz she doesn't like it when I talk like this but…I don't want to embarrass her you know. So I've always got to be on guard in these kinds of parties."

"Right" I said as he pulled back. Stoppable was still the same, he'd confer irrelevant personal with someone who had a weapon to his head. I'd seen it happen. "That was a nice bit you did. I thought it was real funny."

"Yeah it turned out better than I thought. I mean I can sing, but I'm not a great singer, maybe a just above average singer…."

"I'd agree."

He smiled. "Mr. Du said it turned out great and so I…" He stopped and stared at my face for much longer than I was comfortable with. "Mr. Du….are you related?"

"That was my father."

His jaw plopped open in an unsightly manner.

I nodded. Obviously he was still slow in putting pieces together.

"Wow, that wow…You never mentioned…but why would you… I wonder if Kim knows ….anyway its cool… It must be something having such a famous dad."

"I thank my lucky stars every morning."

"Hey" he muttered after swallowing a mouthful. "Hey y'know we…..Kim and I we felt bad about what happened. You know we tried to get in touch."

"Well I cut off all contact for a few weeks after everything came down, so that wasn't in the cards….."

He snapped his fingers. "Speaking of which I think Kim did send you a Christmas Card that year."

"I remember it."

He smiled brightly once again. "So you got it?"

"Yeah I use it as a coaster."

"Oh."

"Nothing personal, I just needed a coaster."

He fiddled with his fork, knocking it against a glass containing a strange blue liquid concoction. I could tell easily he was wondering if he should resent that remark.

"Hey I hear you; I'm always losing my coasters at home. But hey I'm glad to see you're still your usual self."

I leaned back in my chair. "My usual self?

He bit his bottom lips. "Well no offense but you're a jerk."

It was said so innocently my natural instinct was not to be offended but to chuckle. You couldn't really be mad at his honesty.

"But I get it though."

"Do you?"

"I can't really say I get it completely, because I can't really get it…but everybody has their thing. It's part of your thing just like your super self confidence. It's all part of it. You know Kim's got the same kind of confidence. It's like steel, almost unbreakable in most situations. It always amazes me, since mine is uh more like porcelain. Now that is nowhere near as hard as steel but it's better than glass. And darn it, it'll do its job, if handled with care a porcelain cup can last for years, it'll hold a cup of tea better than your hands I know that, and now that I think about it, does anyone really want to sit on a steel toilet? That would probably be cold no matter what time of year it is, really how can anyone like that steely feeling on your backside?"

He was rambling.

"You're rambling" I said.

"I am" he nodded. "I am very rambly right now….Anyway my point was since you're still your usual self that probably means you didn't let what happened get you down….I think?"

I tapped the end of my nose with my finger.

"Great it's all good…..hey I heard a rumor you're a private _eye_."

I reached into my pocket pulled out my P.I license and handed it to him. He studied the card on both sides enthusiastically. You're really a P.I …that's really cool."

"It's all straight," I said.

He handed the license back. "You get any weird cases?"

"Yeah I'm on one right now. This is just between us ok…a big secret."

He nodded excitedly. "Of course."

I tossed him a curve ball. "I'm actually working for Ms. Amy Hall right now."

There was a loud clatter and we both turned our heads. The pink rat had knocked a champagne glass onto the ground. It groaned out loud before scrambling off the table towards the mess on the floor. I turned back to Stoppable. Because of the interruption I had missed his initial reaction to the news. Now he appeared puzzled.

"DNAmy?"

"Yeah, that Amy Hall, she wants me to clear a few things up about Fiske's death."

"Things need to be cleared up?"

"She doesn't like that his name is being dragged through mud. And then there's the bit about you know finding out who killed him and why?"

"Oh right" he laughed softly. Then he quickly threw his hands up. "Wait I didn't mean to laugh…that was…um that was um…"

"Insolent?"

"I was going to say impolite or rude, but that word would probably work….I think….Anyway it's a real tragedy; my heart goes out to DN…miss Hall."

"Why don't you send her a card?"

He half smiled. "I'm thinking flowers. I don't know what kind though, roses are probably inappropriate….."

I allowed him to ramble on in this manner, without interruption. It felt like the right way to go. I did miss out on an important reaction but the atmosphere of the table had changed noticeably. But what really caught my attention was Stopapble's demeanor. The air of aloofness' was gone. Even his rambling about the flowers felt guarded. He was sitting straighter and his brief movement was much more graceful. For the first time, tonight I couldn't read him. The shift was subtle but his expression had cooled. This might have been more telling than anything else. What it was telling me I had no idea of.

"…..Tulips…they might work."

I interrupted. "The news must have been a shock to you huh?"

He nodded. "He was my arch foe you know….obviously Fiske and I have history, mostly bad history…but I wouldn't wish anything like what happened to him on anybody. Plus he was a reformed villain, he was a good guy. "

"He might not have been such a good guy after all. Well not according to the hints the papers are dropping."

Stoppable shrugged. "Fiske was a famous villain; people don't forget easily I wouldn't be surprised if he was getting a bad rap because of it."

"So you think he was on the straight and narrow?"

"Sounds like a question for DNAmy she knew him best."

A leaned over to him. "That sounds reasonable. But between you and me, I don't think it's impossible for someone to keep secrets from their partner, even if it's someone they love. I mean you've probably got some secrets you keep from Possible right?"

It was brief and anyone else might have missed it. His eyes flashed—with something I couldn't label directly. Gun to my head he almost seemed to panic for a moment, but he squashed it before it completely broke through the surface. However it was replaced with something much harder, a little colder. I knew then that Stoppable had changed a bit since we last met.

I went on. "Miss Hall knew him yes, but you knew him too, in a different way. Amy loved him and he could do no wrong for her. But you traded blows with the man for years. He was your main arch foe…I would trust your judgment on this more than anyone else out there. Do you think it's possible that he could have slipped back into villainy."

"I don't want to judge."

"No one is asking you to judge" I pressed. "I'm just asking for some insight. Is it possible he could have slipped?"

."I mean it might be possible…."

"Why?" I said quickly.

"Well…I….just….Monty he…he… for the longest time I thought...The thing is Fiske he had dark forces in him."

"Like Ghosts?"

"No not Ghosts…It's hard for me to explain." He took sip of the blue drink. "He just had it in him to be bad, but that doesn't mean he couldn't have changed."

I leaned back into my chair, easing the tension in the air. I pointed to the drink. "What is that, it looks delicious?"

He grinned for the first time in a few minutes. "Japanese tea, made from a rare flower called a Tan Hwa, it doesn't taste as good as it looks."

"Interesting, well I guess I better get going." I stood up and made as if I were walking away, but after a few steps I quickly turned back to Stoppable. "Ah just one more thing Stoppable."

"Shoot."

"While doing research from the case I ran along an article in the Times where a spokesman for you was quoted in saying you wish Fiske had "reached out" to you. Is that true?"

He stared blankly at me before nodding. "Yeah I would have helped if he was in some kind of trouble."

"That's very kind of you. Very Noble. When was the last time you talked to Fiske?"

"I haven't really had anything close to real conversation with him in years."

I leaned forward and looked at his twinkling eyes and said. "See Miss Hall says something different; she says you and Fiske, had a conversation just weeks before his death. She says you were helping him adjust to the life of a civilian. How do you explain that?"

He tore his eyes away from mine. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you know anything about what he was doing, did he threaten you, and did he reveal his plans?"

"DNAmy is wrong."

"Is she? Are you sure about that?"

"I'm sure."

"Well one of you is lying." I said. "But why would she lie? Why would you lie?"

A wide grin now, but alarm on a face that that had been preoccupied with being hard to read. "I wouldn't, I'm not. Maybe it's all just a misunderstanding."

A misunderstanding was a valid possibility. The alternative was that someone was lying to me. If I had to believe someone it wouldn't be the seemingly out of character blond fellow sitting before me. Now I was really interested. I wanted to find out if I was being lied to or if it was a misunderstanding. I wanted to know what happened to Monkey Fiske and how Stoppable might or might not fit in the picture.

"So you've had no contact with Fiske whatsoever in the weeks leading up to his death?"

Hesitation, then he gave me the smile again. He was set to answer when we were interrupted.

"Hello Mister Du."

I straightened up and turned to meet Kim Possible.

"Good to see you again." I said and offered a hand.

"Feeling's mutual." The handshake was dry, the look sincere. Face to face Kim Possible did not make it easy to dislike her. But there were enough reasons to muster that emotion.

"Thanks for coming" she said.

"You probably say that to all the guests."

She smiled and looked at Stoppable. "So you guys having fun? What were you talking about?"

"He's really a P.I. KP and he's working on a case for…." Stoppable stopped and looked at me.

I nodded to him casually. "Oh I was just wondering if Stoppable he any insights on Monkey Fist."

"Fiske?"She asked.

"He's working on a case for DNAmy." Stoppable whispered.

Possible didn't blink. "Really?"

"That's right…..I feel I should ask, since you have a cavalcade of your own villains what can you tell me about the thievery ring rumors?"

"Not much more than the papers can--"

The thing about Kim Possible was. Depending on the circumstances she might be a worse liar than Stoppable. But only in social situations, when the most that was on the line was inconsequential things like feelings. Not that I've had many opportunities to witness her in the act of lying, but I have been around when things got personal. I'd been fortunate to witness her and Stoppable having a lovers spat. One of those one sided spats when the woman was mad and the man was trying to find out why. She'd give him the tired line of "nothing is wrong" and I was able to read her like a billboard. When in "mission mode" well her focus on duty was only second to my own.

"---I don't know why you think I would know anything."

Chances are she was telling the truth, but if she happened to be lying it was big. It was a "mission serious" lie. I wasn't going to get anything out of her at the moment and the same goes for Stoppable with her beside him.

I pretended to notice the time. "Well, I won't keep you any longer. You've been very helpful."

"My pleasure" she said.

"If you think of anything I ought to know…." I handed Stoppable my business card. "Give me a call."

Stoppable slipped the card into his pocket. Then he stood up and took Possible's hand in his.

"KP let's dance."

"Sure."

I watched the lovebirds step towards the dance floor hand in hand. It would be sweet if it wasn't just a tad sickening.

Diana suddenly popped up beside me. "They seemed to be doing well…As a couple I mean."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Don't you read the papers? Society pages? Adrena Lynn's column?"

I shrugged. "Don't have much time for gossip. Besides didn't they put Lynn in jail some time ago?"

I watched Kim Possible move lightly through the shuffle of massed dancers. Her eyes closed, her lips parted, her face turned to Stoppable. Concentrating on the couple I took in everything I could see. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, holding her closely. Yet his face would be ready for any poker game that might break out. It was barely there but I reasoned his guard was still up. Going back to Possible, her red hair swung free against the back of her dark dress and against Stoppable's face. Her right hand clutched tightly at the back of his suit.

"I always find myself wishing the best for this couple. I read their unauthorized biography and I found it to be very sweet."

"Why?" I asked.

"I've always been fond of the childhood friends to "more" scenario, it reminds me of a fairy tale. Don't you think so?"

"I highly doubt it's anything like that." I said.

"Why?"

"Because fairy tale romances are just that, fairy tales. It implies you can be in a perfect relationship with a perfect person. Which is impossible."

She let out a loud breath. "I should have known I'd get such a literal response from you. Granted I know I don't see their relationship behind closed doors, but you can see/feel the love between them.

"Someone once said adolescence is the time in life when girls quit believing in fairy tales and start to believe in love."

"You know you don't have to interpret that line so cynically" Diana proceeded to punch me in the shoulder. And it did more than sting. "Someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again."

My attention to this conversation wavered so I went back to Team Possible. Stoppable sweated, and Possible danced with her eyes closed. Still their bodies moved as one.

"What's on your mind?" Diana inquired.

"I don't know."

The reality of the situation was I didn't even know exactly what I was looking at. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was something.

Judging by the look on her face I must have been too cryptic. But I didn't have time to explain I needed to think.

I started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"Little boy's room."

Funny thing happened on my way to the bathroom. I took a left somewhere and found myself heading towards the exit. I was on my way out when someone called out my name. It jarred me a little. I wasn't on any friendly terms with anyone else here.

"Oh." I said when I turned towards the voice.

Elizabeth Director sauntered towards me. Her skin flawless, her cheekbones high, her mouth a seductive curve. The face of a mature woman but her body belonged to a younger woman

She was dynamite. But I wasn't going to mention that.

With my foot tapping lightly against the floor I chuckled softly. "Well if it isn't Judas or should I see Jud-"I."

I was being stared at in a coolly impersonal way, and it burned. "You quit Will, I didn't fire you."

"If that rationalization helps you sleep at night. What I know is you went down like a welcome mat when brass set their sights on me."

"I wonder can anger survive without his irrationality." She didn't move. Her eyes went on watching me. She wet her lips and said. "So you've made your name as a private investigator?"

"You tell me?"

"The G.P.D keeps close tabs on the licensed private investigators. Your name has been coming up a lot lately."

I couldn't help but smile.

"I see you are leaving." She said abruptly. "This party is a good opportunity for you to make powerful friends. Friends who can help you get back on the force."

"Friends like who?"

"Like Mister Nelson, our D.A for one. Even Team Possible could convince---"

I shook my head. "I'm not here for that."

Confusion masked her face. "I know for sure you don't _like_ anyone here. Including your father and excluding your sister….So if you're not here for politics, and I know you are not here for Kim Possible, why are you here?"

"A simple hunch…..about a case"

She grinned. "Working on a hunch? You've changed Will."

"Hunches work sometimes." I countered. "Don't seem so shocked."

""If you find facts follow them. If you have theories, substantiate them." That's a written on the first page of the D.O.I handbook. You held that book closer to your heart than your family Will. I have reason to be shocked."

"Well, I suppose I don't need to follow the handbook anymore."

To me the words sounded unnatural and a bit childish coming out of my mouth. So I could only imagine how it came across to her.

"I suppose" she replied.

I nodded to her. "Some other time then."

"Do you understand?" She asked when I turned away.

"What?"

"You were always troubled by any visible weakness you imagined would hold you back. And you would never give yourself to something unless it helped you prove a point or strengthened your abilities somehow. You've been a private investigator for a few years now, has it helped you understand?"

Understand what? Is what I wanted to ask. But knowing Betty it would have led to more cryptic questions. I didn't have time for that. I nodded once again before walking away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When I awoke it was to the sound of the phone ringing.

Fingers of gray light had crept through my office window and across the notes on my desk. It was morning, and I had apparently fallen asleep at my desk. I massaged my jaw back into feeling before picking up the phone. I said "hello" and I was immediately assaulted by a string of obscenities.

"Is this Sister Margret my sixth grade teacher?" I inquired.

"You know who it is!" Diana shouted to the relief of my throbbing head.

In between the sailor talk I picked up pieces about how upset my sister was and my father's severe disappointment in not seeing me. She was going on about how inconsiderate I was when I placed the phone down, slid my trench coat on, and headed out the door. I grabbed a newspaper and a bag of peanuts from a newsstand at the end of the block and then started back toward the office. Once back inside I opened the peanuts, sprawled the paper before me, and placed the phone back in my ear.

"….And you never think about anyone but yourself. If you don't fix your attitude you're going to end up lonely and…."

"I get it" I interjected. "I'm sorry for leaving early, I'll apologize to Welta, and I'll even get her a gift."

"What about your father?"

"He's too old for dolls." I said as I skimmed the headlines of the newspaper.

"So is your sister" she told me.

"Touche,"

"Well I hope whatever you had to run to was worth it. Not only did you upset your family but you missed the big announcement."

"You mean Walter Nelson declaring he would run for governor? Or Kim Possible's endorsement of him?"

"Both…but how did you know?"

I knew because it was being screamed at me from the front pages of the Go City Times. This must have all happened right after I had left.

Diana continued to badmouth me, so I sat back and reflected on everything that occurred in the past two days. The life I wanted for myself is a cursed one. You go through life wanting to set things in their place. Sometimes you find yourself following detailed rules that may have no bearing on the real world, or that may in the long run be meaningless. But they work for you and help you put things in order.

It was during these moments that I realized I was meant to walk this path and no other. A major unsolved crime, an unsolved murder; to me it was a story without an ending, a puzzle missing a piece. Disorder in an orderly world.

"Diana what is the unofficial number one rule of being a D.O.I Agent?"

"What? Um rule number one "A detective must never be personally involved in a case."

I closed my eyes. "The second rule?"

"Always observe rule number one. What is this all about?"

I opened my eyes. I was no longer an agent.

"Well Diana it's been great talking to you but I've got to work on my story."

I hung up on her before she could say another word. Starring at my desk I wondered what my next move was. Thinking critically it was worse than stupid to get involved in this case.

The phone rang. I picked up.

"Hello?"

"Will Du?"

I didn't recognize the voice it sounded robotic and tinny. But one thing was for sure the voice seemed to recognize me.

"What can I do for you?"

"You can lay off, Du. Lay off the Fiske case."

"Who is this?"

"A friend, but I won't stay friendly if you keep on this case."

"Is that right?" I sighed.

He hung up.

I held the phone in my hand before laying it back on its cradle. For the longest time I didn't consider myself as a man blessed with true friends, but apparently I was wrong. I had a real friend who cared so much about my well being he was willing to hurt me rather than see me get involved in a troublesome case. It almost brought a tear to my eye.

I picked up the phone again to call Miss Hall and tell her I was going all in on this case. I wasn't exactly sure how I could help her but Lord knows I would try.

* * *

A/N Thanks for reading. This is the summer of new. So I'm going to be dumping out my cluttered brain to you guys. Hopefully you'll like it.


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